Embed Size (px)
Citation preview
SONNETSWorkL i feLoveThe Chi ld in the ! ardenLove ’ s Reason! ortrait and RealityThe W ind o f SorrowPatria
LE ! ENDSA Legend o f ServiceThe V ain King
L Y R I CS
A Mile w ith MeSpring in th e SouthLove ’ s N earne ssTwo School sA ! rayer for a Mother
’ s B irthdayIndian SummerOne WorldHide and SeekDu l ci s MemoriaAutumn in the GardenThe MessageLight Between the T ree sRe liance
v i i
GREETINGS AND IN SCRIPTION SKatrina ’ s Sun-dialTo Jame s Whitcomb Ri leyA Health to Mark TwainA Rondeau of College RhymesThe Mocking-birdThe Empty QuatrainInscriptions for a Friend ’ s HouseThe Statue o f Sherman by St . GaudensThe Sun-dial at Well s College
! REL U DE
DAUGHTER of Psyche, pledge of that last nightWhen,pierced with pain and bitter-sweet
delight,She knew her Love and saw her Lord depart,Then breathed her wonder and her woe forlornInto a single cry, and thou wast born !Thou flower of rapture and thou fruit of grief !Invisible enchantress of the heart !Mistress of charms that bring reliefTo sorrow, and to joy impartA heavenly tone that keeps it undefiled,Thou art the childOf Amor, and by right divineA throne of love is thine,
Thou flower-folded, golden-girdled, star-crowned
Queen,Whose bridal beauty mortal eyes have never seen !
Thou art the Angel of the pool that sleeps,While peace and joy lie hidden in its deeps,Waiting thy touch to make the waters rollIn healing murmurs round the weary soul .Ah, when wilt thou draw near,
Thou messenger of mercy robed in song !My lonely heart has listened for thee longAnd now I seem to hear
Across the crowded market-place of life,Thy measured foot-fall, ri nging light and clearAbove the unmeaning noises and the unruly strife !
In quiet cadence , sweet and slow,
Serenely pacing to and fro ,Thy far-off steps are magical and dear.Ah, turn this way, come close and speak to me !From this dull bed of languor set my spirit free,And bid me rise, and let me walk awhile with thee
I I I
Where wilt thou lead me first !In what still regionOf thy domain,
Whose provinces are legion,W ilt thou restore me to myself again,And quench my heart’s long thirst !
I pray thee lay thy golden girdle down,And put away thy starry crownFor one dear restful hourAssume a state more mild .
Clad only in thy blossom-broidered gownThat breathes familiar scent of many a flower,Take the low path that leads thro’ pastures green
And though thou art a Queen,Be Rosamund awhile, and in thy bower,By tr anqui l love and simple joy beguiled,Sing to my soul, as mother to her child.
IV
! LAY SON !
0 lead me by the hand,And let my heart have rest,And bring me back to childhood land,To find again the long-lost bandOf playmates blithe and blest.
Some quaint, old-fashioned air,That all the children knew,
Shall run before us everywhere,Like a little maid with flying hair,To guide the merry crew.
Along the garden waysWe chase the light-foot tune,And in and out the flowery maze,With eager haste and fond delays,In pleasant paths of June .
For us the fields are new,
For us the woods are ri feW ith fairy secrets, deep and true,And heaven is but a tent of blueAbove the game of life .
The world is far awayThe fever and the fret,
And all that makes the heart grow gray,Is out of sight and far away,Dear Music , while I hear thee playThat olden , golden roundelay,
Remember and forget ! !
V
SLEE! SON !
Forget, forget !The tide of life is turning !The waves of light ebb slowly down the westAlong the edge of dark some stars are burningTo guide thy spirit safely to an isle of rest .
A little rocking on the tranquil deepOf song, to soothe thy yearning,A little slumber and a litt le sleep,And so, forget, forget !
Forget, forget,The day was long in pleasure !Its echoes die away across the hillNow let thy heart beat time to their slow
measure,That swells , and sinks, and faints, and falls, till
all is still .Th en, like a weary child that loves to keepLocked in its arms some treasure,Thy soul in calm content shall fal l asleep,And so forget, forget.
Forget, forget,And if thou hast been weeping,Let go the thoughts that bind thee to thy
griefLie still, and watch the singing angels, reaping
The golden harvest of thy sorrow, sheaf by sheaf !Or count thy joys like flocks of snow-white
sheepThat one by one come creepingInto the quiet fold, until thou sleep,And so forget, forget !
Forget, forget,Thou art a child and knowestSo little of thy life ! But music tellsOne secret of the world thro’ which thou goes!
T o work with morning song , to rest with eveni ngbells :
Life is in tune with harmony so deepThat when the notes are lowestThou still canst lay thee down in peace and
sleep ,For God will not forget.
VI
HU NT IN ! SON !
Out of the garden of playtime, out of the bowerof rest,
Fain would I follow at daytime, music that callsto a quest .
Hark,how the galloping measure
Quickens the pulses of pleasure !Gaily saluting the mom
With the long, clear note of the hunting-horn,Echoing up from the valley,Over the mountain side,Rally, you hunters, rally,Rally, and ride !
Drink of the magical potion music has mixedwith her wine,
Full of the madness of motion, joyful, exultant,divine !
Leave all your troubles behind you,Ride where they never can find you,Into the gladness of morn,
With the long, clear note of the hunting-horn ,Swiftly o ’er hillock and hollow,
Sweeping along with the wind,Follow, you hunters, follow,
Follow and find !
What will you reach with your riding ! Whatis the charm of the chase !
Just the delight and the striding swing of thejubilant pace .
Danger is sweet when you front her,In at the death, every hunter !Now on the breeze the mort is borne
In the long, clear note of the hunting-horn,Winding merrily, over and over,Come, come , come !Home again , Ranger home again,Rover .
Turn again, home !
VI I
DANCE-MU SIC
Now let the sleep-tune blend with the play-tune,Weaving the mystical spell of the dance !Lighten the deep tune, soften the gay tune,Mingle a tempo that turns in a trance .Half of it sighing, half of it smiling,Smoothly it swings, with a triplicate beat !Calling, replying, yearning, beguiling,Wooing the heart and bewitching the feet .
Every drop of bloodRises with the flood,
Rocking on the waves of the strain !Youth and beauty glideTurning with the tideMusic making one out of twain,
Bearing them away, and away, and away,Like a tone and its terce
Ti ll the chord dissolves, and the dancers stay,And reverse .
V iolins leading, take up the measure,Turn with the tune again, clarinets clearAnswer their pleading, — harps full of pleasureSprinkle their silver like light on the mere.
Semiquaver notes,Merry little motes,Tangled in the hazeOf the lamp ’s golden rays ,Quiver everywhereIn the air,Like a spray ,
Till the fuller stream of the might of the tune,Gliding like a dream in the light of the moon,Bears them all away, and away, and away,Floating in the trance of the dance .
V I I I
T HE SY M ! HONY
Music, they do thee wrong who say thine artIs only to enchant the sense .
For every timid motion of the heart,And every passion too intense
To bear the chain of the imperfect word,And every tremulous longing, stirred
By spirit winds that come we know not whenceAnd go we know not where,And every inarticulate prayer
Beating about the depths of pain or bliss,Like some bewildered bird
That seeks its nest but knows not where it is ,And every dream that haunts , with dim delight,The drowsy hour between the day and night,The wakeful hour between the night and day,
Imprisoned, waits for thee ,Impatient, yearns for thee,
The queen who comes to set the captive free !Thou lendest wings to grief to fly away,And wings to joy to reach a heavenly heightAnd every dumb desire that storms within the
breastThou leadest forth to sob or sing itself to rest .
All these are thine, and therefore love is thine .For love is joy and grief,
And trembling doubt, and certain-sure belief,And fear, and hope, and longing unexpressed ,In pain most human, and in rapture brief
Almost divine .Love would possess, yet deepens when denied !And love would give , yet hungers to receive !Love like a prince his triumph would achieve !And like a miser in the dark his joys would hi de .
Love is most boldHe leads his dreams like armed men in line !Yet when the siege is set, and he must speak,Calling the fortress to resign
Its treasure , valiant love grows weak,And hardly dares his purpose to unfold .
Less with his faltering lips than with his eyesHe claims the longed-for prize
Love fain would tell it all, yet leaves the bestuntold .
But thou shalt speak for love . Yea, thou sha
teachThe mystery of measured tone,The Pentecostal speech
That every listener heareth as his own .
For on thy head the cloven tongues of fire ,Diminished chords that quiver with desire,And major chords that glow with
peace,Have fallen from above !And thou canst give release
In music to the burdened heart of love.
Sound with the ’cellos’ pleading, passionatestrain
The yearning theme , and let the flute replyIn placid melody, while violins complain,
And sob , and sigh,With muted string !
Then let the oboe half-reluctant singOf bliss that trembles on the verge of pain,While ’cellos plead and plead again,
With throbbing notes delayed, that wouldimpart
To every urgent tone the beating of the heart .So runs the andante , making plain
The hopes and fears of love without a word .
Then comes the adagio , with a yielding themeThrough which the V iolas flow soft as in a dream,
While horns and mild bassoons are heardIn tender tune, that seems to floatLike an enchanted boatUpon the downward-gliding stream,
Toward the allegro’s wide, bright seaOf dancing, glittering, blending tone ,Where every instrument is sounding free,
And harps like wedding-chimes are rung, andtrumpets blown
Around the barque of loveThat sweeps , with smiling skies above,A royal galley, many-cared,
Into the happyh arbour of the perfect chord.
I !
I R I S
Light to the eye and Music to the ear,These are the builders of the bridge that
springsFrom earth’s dim shore of half-remembered
thingsTo reach the spirits home , the heavenly
sphereWhere nothing silent is and nothing dark .
So when I see the rainbow’s arcSpanning the showery sky, far-off I hearMusic, and every colour sings
And while the symphony builds up its roundFull sweep of architectural harmonyAbove the tide of Time, far, far away I seeA bow of colour in the bow of sound .
Red as the dawn the trumpet rings,Imperial purple from the trombone flows
,
The mellow horn melts into evening rose.Blue as the sky, the choir of strings
Darkens in double-bass to ocean’s hue,Rises in violins to noon-tide’s blue,
With threads of quivering light shot through andthrough .
Green as the mantle that the summer flingsAround the world, the pastoral reeds in tuneEmbroider melodies of May and June .
Yellow as gold,Yea, thrice-refined gold,
And purer than the treasures of the mine,Floods of the human voice divineAlong the arch in choral song are rolled.So bends the bow complete :And radiant rapture flows
Across the bridge, so full, so strong, so sweet,That the uplifted spirit hardly knowsWhether the Music-Light that glows
Within the arch of tones and colours sevenIs sunset-peace of earth, or sunrise-joy of Heaven.
Music, in thee we float,And lose the lonely note
Of self in thy celestial-ordered strain,Until at last we findThe life to love resigned
In harmony of joy restored again !And songs that cheered our mortal days
Break on the coast of light in endl ess hymnsof praise .
December , rgor May , 1903.
IN E! CELS IS
TWO dwellings, Peace, are thine.One is the mountain-height ,Uplifted in the loneliness of lightBeyond the realm of shadows, fine,
And far, and clear, where advent of the nightMeans only glorious nearness of the stars,And dawn , unhindered, breaks above the barsThat long the lower world in twilight keep .
Thou sleepes t not, and hast no need of sleep ,For all thy cares and fears have dropped away !The night’s fatigue, the fever-fret of day,Are far below thee ! and earth
’s weary wars,In vain expense of passion, pass
Before thy sight like visions in a glass,Or like the wrinkles of the storm that creepAcross the sea and leave no traceO f trouble on that immemorial face ,So brief appear the conflicts, and so slightThe wounds men give, the things for which they
fight
Here hangs a fortress on the distant steep ,A lichen clinging to the rock
There sai ls a fleet upon the deep ,A wandering flock
Of snow-winged gulls : and yonder, in the plain,A marble palace shines, a grainOf mica glittering in the rain .
Beneath thy feet the clouds are rolledBy voiceless winds : and far between
The rolling clouds new shores and peaks are seen,In shimmering robes of green and gold,
And faint aerial hueThat silent fades into the silent blue .Thou, from thy mountain-hold,
All day, in tranquil wisdom , looking downOn distant scenes of human toil and strife,All night, with eyes aware of loftier life,Uplooking to the sky , where stars are sown,Dost watch the everlasting fields grow whiteUnto the harvest of the sons of light,
’
And welcome to thy dwelling-place sublimeThe few strong souls that dare to climbThe slippery crags and find thee on the height.
I I
DE ! ROFU NDIS
But in the depth thou hast another home,For hearts less dar ing, or more frai l .
Thou dwellest also in the shadowy vale !And pilgrim-souls that roamWith weary feet o’er hill and dale,Bearing the burden and the heatOf toilful days,Turn from the dusty ways
To find thee in thy green and still retreat .Here is no vision wide outspread
Before the lonely and exalted seatOf al l-embracing knowledge . Here, instead,A little garden, and a sheltered nook,
With outlooks bri ef and sweetAcross the meadows, and along the brook,A little stream that little knows
Of the great sea towards which it gladly flows,A little field that bears a little wheatTo make a portion of earth ’s daily bread.
The vast cloud-armies overheadAre marshalled, and the wild wind blowsIts trumpet, but thou canst not tell
Whence the storm comes nor where it goes .
Nor dost thou greatly care , since all is well !Thy daily task is done,And though a lowly one,Thou gavest it of thy best,And art content to rest
In patience till its slow reward is won .
Not far thou lookest, but thy sight is clear !Not much thou knowest, but thy faith is dear !For life is love, and love is always near.Here friendship lights the fire, and every heart,Sure of itself and sure of al l the rest,Dares to be true, and gladly takes its partIn open converse, bringing forth its bestHere is sweet music, melting every chain
Of lassitude and painAnd here, at last, is sleep , the gift of gifts,
The tender nurse, who liftsThe soul grown weary of the waking world,And lays it, with its thoughts all furled,
Its fears forgotten , and its passions still ,On the deep bosom of the Eternal Will.
August, xgox .
VICTOR HU GO
1802—1902
HEART of France for a hundred years,Passionate, sensitive , proud, and strong,Quick to throb with her hopes and fears,Fierce to flame with her sense of wrong !You, who hailed with a morning songDream-light gilding a throne of old :You, who turned when the dream grew cold,Singing still , to the light that shonePure from Liberty’s ancient throne,Over the human throng !
You, who dared in the dark eclipse,When the pygmy heir of a giant nameDimmed the face of the land with shame,Speak the truth with indignant lips,Call him little whom men called great,Scoff at him, scorn him, deny him,
Point to the blood on hi s robe of state,Fling back his bribes and defy him !
You , who fronted the waves of fateAs you faced the sea from your island home,Exiled, yet with a soul elate,Sending songs o’er the rolling foam,
Bidding the heart of man to waitFor the day when all should seeFloods of wrath from the frowning skiesFall on an Empire founded in lies,And France again be free !
You, who came in the Terri ble YearSwi ftly back to your broken land,Now to your heart a thousand times more dear,Prayed for her, sung to her, fought for her ,Patiently , fervently wrought for her,
Till once again,After the storm of fear and pain,High in the heavens the star of France stood clear !
You who loved little children bestOf all the poets that ever sung,Great heart , golden heart,
Old, and yet ever young,Minstrel of liberty,
Lover of all free, winged things ,Now at last you are free,Your soul has its wings !Heart of France for a hundred years,Floating far in the light that never fails you
,
Over the turmoil of mortal hopes and fearsVictor, forever victor, the whole world hails you !
March, 1902 .
T HOU who hast made thy dwelling fairWith flowers beneath . above with starry
lights ,And set thine altars everywhere,
On mountain heights,In woodlands dim
Q
With many a dream,
In valleys bright with spr ings,And on the curving capes of every streamThou who hast taken to thyself the wings
Of morning , to abideUpon the secr ef
’
places of the sea ,And on far islands , where the tide
V isits the beauty of_untrqdden shores,
Waiting for worshippers to come to theeIn thy_g reat out-of
—doors !To thee I turn, to thee I make my prayer,
God of the open air.
I I
Seeking for thee, the heart of manLonely and longing ran,
In that first, solitary hour,When the mysterious power
T o know and love theyvonder of the momWas breathed within him,
"
and his soul wasAnd thou didst meet thy child ,
Not in some hidden shrine ,But 1n the freedom of the garden wild,
his hand 1n thine,There all day long 1n Paradise hewalked,And 1n the cool of evening with thee talked .
I I I
Lost , long ago , that garden bright and pure,Lost, that calm day too perfect to endure,
And lost the ch i ldlike lov e that worshipped andwas sure !
For men have dulled their eyes with sin,And dimmed thelight of heaven with
m
doubt,And built their temple walls to shut thee in,
And framed their i ron creeds to shut thee out .But not for thee the closing of the door,
!
0 Spirit unconfined !Thy ways are freeAs is the wandering wind,
And thou hast wooed thy children, to restoreTheir fellowship with thee ,
In peace of soul and simpleness of mind.
I V
Joyfu l the heart that, when the flood rolled by,Leaped up to see the rainbow 1n the sky ,
And glad the pilgrim, 1n the lonely night ,For whom the hi lls of Haran, tier on tier,Built up a secret stairway to the heightWhere star s like angel eyes were shining clear.From mountain
-peaks, in many a land and age,Disciples of the Persian seerHave hailed the rising sun andworshipped thee !And wayworn followers of the Indian sageHave found the peace of God beneath a spreading
tree .
But One, but One, ah , child most dear,And perfect image of the Love Unseen,Walked every day in pastures green,And all his li fe the quiet waters by,Reading their beauty with a tranqui l eye.
To him the desert was a place preparedFor weary hearts to rest !
The h l lls1de'
was a temple blest !The grassy vale a banquet-roomWhere he could feed and comfort many a guest .
With him the lily sharedThe vital ! oy that breathes itself 1n bloom !And every bird that sang beside the nestTold of the love that broods o ’er every l iving
thing.
He watched the shepherd bringHis flock at sundown to the welcome fold,The fisherman at daybreak flingHis net across the waters gray and cold,And all day long the patient reaper swingH is curving sickle through the harvest gold .
So through the world the foot-path way he trod,Drawing the air of heaven in every breath !And in
‘
the evening sacrifice of deathBeneath the open sky he gave his soul to God .
Himwill I trust, and for my Master take !H imwill I follow ! and for his dear sake,
God of the open air,To thee I make my prayer.
V
From the prison of anxious thought that gr eedhas builded ,
From the fetters that gny y has wr ought and pridehas gilded,
From the noise of the crowded ways and the fierceconfusion,
From the folly that wastes i ts days in a world ofillusion,
(Ah , but the life is lost that frets and langu ishesthere !!
I would escape and be free in the joy of the openai r .
While the tremulous leafy haze on the woodlandis Spreading,
And the bloom on the meadow betrays whereMay has been treading !
While the birds on the branches above, and thebrooks flowing under,
Are singing together of love in a world full of
(LO, in the marvel of Springtime, dreams arechanged into truth ! !
Quicken my heart , and restore the beautiful hopesof youth .
By the faith that the flowers show when theybloom unbidden,
By the calm of the river ’s flow to a goal that ishidden,
By the trust of the tree that clings to its deepfoundation ,
By the courage of wild birds’ wings on the longmigration ,
(Wonderful secret of peace that abides in Nature’s breast !!
Teach me how to confide, and live my life, andrest.
For the comfort ing warmth of the sun that mybody embraces,
For the cool of the waters that run through theshadowy places,
For the balm of the breezes that brush my facewith their fingers,
For the vesper-hymn of the thrush when the twilight lingers,
For the long breath!
, the deep breath , the breathof a heart without care,
I will give thanks and adore thee, God of the openai r !
V I
These are the gifts I askOf thee, Spir it
fl a /
sereneStrength for the daily task,Courage to face the road ,
Good cheer to help me bear the traveller’s load .
And, for the hours of rest that come between ,An inward joy in all things heard and seen .
These are the sins I fainWould have thee take awayMalice, and cold disdain,Hot anger, sullen hate,
Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great,And discontent that casts a shadow grayOn all the brightness of the common day.
These are the things I prizeAnd hold of dearest worth :Light of the sapphire skies,Peace of the silent hills ,
Shelter of forests , comfort of the grass,Music of birds , murmur of lit tle rills ,Shadow of clouds that swiftly pass,
And, after showers ,The smell of flower s
And of the good brown earth ,And best of all , along the way, friendship
mi rth .
So let me keepThese treasures of the humble heartIn true possession, owning them by loveAnd when at last I can no longer moveAmong them freely, but must gag!From the green fields and from the waters clear,
Let me not creepInto some darkened room and hideFrom all that makes the world so bright and
dearBut throw the windows wideTo welcome in the light !
And while I clasp a well-beloved hand ,Let me once more have sight
Of the deep sky and the far-smiling land,Then gently fall on sleep ,
And breathe my body back to Nature’s care,
My spirit out to thee, God of the open air.
WORK
LET me but do my work from day to day,In field or forest , at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place or tranquil room !Let me but find it in my heart to say ,When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,This is my work ! my blessing, not my doomOf all who live, I am the one by whomThis work can best be done in the right way .
Th en shall I see it not too great, nor small ,To suit my spirit and to prove my powersTh en shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours,And cheerful turn , when the long shadows fallAt eventide, to play and love and rest ,Because I know for me my work is best.
Apr il , 1902 .
LIFE
L ET me but live my life from year to year,With forward face and unreluctant soul !Not hurrying to, nor turning from, the goal !
Not mourning for the things that disappearIn the dim past, nor holding back in fearFrom what the future veils ! but with a wholeAnd happy heart , that pays its tollTo Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.
So let the way wind up the hill or down ,O ’er rough or smooth , the journey wi ll be joyStill seeki ng what I sought when but a boy,New friendship , high adventure, and a crown,My heart will keep the courage of the quest,And hope the road ’s last turn will be the best.
May , 1902 .
LOVE
LET me but love my love without disguise,Nor wear a mask of fashion old or new,
Nor wait to speak till I can hear a clue,Nor play a part to shine in others ’ eyes,Nor bow my knees to what my heart denies !But what I am, to that let me be true,And let me worship where my love is due,And so through love and worship let me r ise.
For love is but the heart ’s immortal thirstTo be completely known and all forgiven,Even as sinful souls that enter Heaven :So take me, dear, and understand my worst,And freely pardon it, because confessed,And let me find in loving thee, my best.
May , 1902 .
THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN
WHEN to the garden of untroubled thoughtI came of late, and saw the open door,And wished again to enter, and explore
The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom in
wrought,And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught,It seemed some purer voice must speak beforeI dared to tread that garden loved of yore,That Eden lost unknown and found unsought .
Then just within the gate I saw a child,
A stranger-child , yet to my heart most dear !He held his hands to me, and softly smiledWith eyes that knew no shade of sin or fearCome in,
! he said, and play awhile with me !I am the little child you used to be. !
January, 1903.
LOVE’S REASON
FOR that thy face is fair I love thee not !Nor yet because the light of thy brown eyesHath gleams of wonder and of glad surprise ,
Like woodland streams that cross a sunlit spotNor for thy beauty, born without a blot,Most perfe ct when it sh ine s through nodisguise
Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise ,For all these outward things I love thee not
But for a something in thy form and face ,Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony !A certain soothing charm, a vital graceThat breathes of the eternal womanly,And makes me feel the warmth of Nature’s breast,When in her arms, and thine, I sink to r est .
February, 1904 .
! ORTRAIT AND REALITY
IF on the closed curtain of my sightMy fancy paints thy portrait far away,I see thee still the same, by night or day
Crossing the crowded street , or moving bright’Mid festal throngs, or reading by the lightOf shaded lamp some friendly poet’s lay,Or shepherding the children at their play,The same sweet self, and my unchanged delight.
But when I see thee near, I recognizeIn every dear familiar way some strangePerfection, and behold in April guiseThe magic of thy beauty that doth rangeThrough many moods with infinite surprise
,
Never the same, and sweeter wi th each change.
May . xgo4.
! ATRIA
I WOULD not even ask my heart to sayIf I could love some other land as wellAs thee , my country, had I felt the spell
Of Italy at birth, or learned to obeyThe charm of France , or England
’s mighty sway.
I would not be so much an infidelAs once to dream , or fashion words to tell,What land could hold my love from thee away.
For like a law of nature in my bloodI feel thy sweet and secret sovereignty,And woven through my soul thy vital sign.
My life is but a wave, and thou the flood !I am a leaf and thou the mother-tree !Nor should I be at all, were I not thine.
June, 1904.
LE! ENDS
IT pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name ! !To hear, one day, report from those who came
With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy,To tell of earthly tasks in His employFor some were sorry when they saw how slowThe stream of heavenly love on earth must flow !And some were glad because their eyes had seen ,Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green .
So, at a certain hour, before the throneThe youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone !Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought,And thus his tidings to the Master brought :Lord , in the city Lupon I have foundThree servants of thy holy name, renownedAbove their fellows . One is very wise,With thoughts that ever range above the skies !And one is gifted with the golden speechThat makes men glad to hear
'
when he willteach !
And one , wi th no rare gift or grace endued,Has won the people’s love by doing good .
With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest !But, Lord, I fain would know, which loves Theebest !
Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose lookThe heart s of all are like an open book :In every soul the secret thought I read,And well I know who loves me best indeed.
But every life has pages vacant still ,Whereon a man may write the thing he will !Therefore I read in silence, day by day,And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way .
But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the threeWho serve me there , and take this word fromme
Tell each of them his Master bids him goAlone to Spiran’s huts, across the snow !There he shall find a certain task for meBut what, I do not tell to them nor thee .Give thou the message, make my word the test,And crown for me the one who answers best. !
Silent the angel stood , with folded hands,To take the imprint of his Lord’s commandsThen drew one breath , obedient and elate ,And passed, the self-same hour, throughgate .
First to the Temple door he made his way !And there, because it was an holy-day,He saw the folk by thousands thronging , stirredBy ardent thirst to hear the preacher’s word .
Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol’
s name ,Th rough aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol
came !Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might,With lips prepared and firm, and eyes al ight.One moment at the pulpit steps he kneltIn silent prayer, and on his shoulder feltThe angel’s hand : The Master bids thee goAlone to Spiran’s huts, across the snow,
To serve Him there . ! Then Bernol’s hiddenface
Went white as death, and for about the spaceOf ten slow heart-beats there was no reply !Till Bernol looked around and whispered, Why !But answer to his question came there none !The angel sighed, and wi th a sigh was gone.
Within the humble house where Malvin spentHis studious years, on holy things intent,Sweet stillness reigned ! and there the angel foundThe saintly sage immersed in thought profound,Weaving with patient toil and willing careA web of wisdom, wonderful and fairA seamless robe for Truth’s great bridal meet,And needing but one thread to be complete .Then Asmiel touched his hand, and broke thethread
Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said,The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee goAlone to Spiran’s huts, across the snow,
To serve Him there . ! With sorrow and surpriseMalvin looked up , reluctance in his eyes .The broken thought, the strangeness of the call ,The perilous passage of the mountain-wall
,
The solitary journey, and the lengthOf ways unknown , too great for his frail strength ,Appalled him. With a doubtful browHe scanned the doubtful task
,and muttered
How 2But Asmiel answered , as he turned to go,With cold, disheartened voice, I do not know.
The angel ’s face with inward joy grew bright,And all his figure glowed with heavenly lightHe took the golden circlet from his browAnd gave the crown to Fermor , answering, Now !For thou hast met the Master’s bidden test,And I have found the man who loves Him best .Not thine, nor mine, to question or replyWhen He commands us, asking how ! orwhy !
He knows the cause ! Hisjust !
Who serv es the King must servetrus
February, 1903.
THE VAIN KING
IN robes of Tyrian blue the King was drest,A jewelled collar shone upon his breast,A giant ruby glittered in his crownLord of rich lands and many a splendid town .
In him the glories of an ancient lineOf sober kings, who ruled by right divine,Were centred ! and to him with loyal aweThe people looked for leadership and law .
Ten thousand knights , the safeguard of the land ,Lay like a single sword within his hand !A hundred courts, with power of life and death ,Proclaimed decrees of justice by his breath !And all the sacred growths that men had knownO f order and of rule upheld his throne .
Proud was the King : yet not with such a heartAs fits a man to play a royal part .Not his the pride that honours as a trustThe right to rule, the duty to be justNot his the dignity that bends to bearThe monarch ’s yoke, the master
’s load of care,And labours like the peasant at his gate ,To serve the people and protect the State .Another pride was his, and other joysTo him the crown and sceptre were but toys
,
With which he played at glory’s idle game,To please himself and win the wreaths of fame .The throne his fathers held from age to age
,
To his ambition , seemed a fitting stageBuilt for King Martin to display at will
,
His mighty strength and universal skill.
No conscious child , that, spoiled with prai sing ,
triesAt every step to win admiring eyes,No favourite mountebank, whose acting drawsFrom gaping crowds loud thunder of applause,Was vainer than the King : his only thirstWas to be hailed , in every race, the first .When tournament was held , in knightly guiseThe King would ride the lists and win the prize !When music charmed the court , with golden lyreThe King would take the stage and lead the choir !In hunting, his the lance to slay the boar !In hawking, see his fal con highest soar !In painting , he would wield the master
’s brushIn hi gh debate ,—
!
the King is speaking ! Hush ! !
Thus , with a restless heart, in every fieldHe sought renown, and found his subjects yieldAs if he were a demi-god revealed .
But while he played the petty games of lifeHis kingdom fell a prey to inward strife !Corruption through the court unheeded crept,And on the seat of honour justi ce slept .The strong trod down the weak ! the helpless poorGroaned under burdens grievous to endure .The nation’s wealth was spent in vain display,And weakness wore the nation’s heart away .
Yet think not Earth is blind to human woesMan has more friends and helpers than he knows !And when a patient people are oppressed
,
The land that bore them feels it in her breast .Spirits of field and flood, of heath and hill,Are grieved and angry at the spreading i llThe trees complain together in the night
,
Voices of wrath are heard along the height,
And secret vows are sworn , by stream and strand,T o bring the tyrant low and liberate the land .
But little recked the pampered King of theseHe heard no voice but such as praise and please.Flattered and fooled , victor in every sport ,One day he wandered idly with his courtBeside the river, seeking to deviseNew ways to show his skill to wondering eyes .There in the stream a patient fisher stood,And cast his line across the rippling flood .
His silver spoil lay near him on the green :! Such fish ,
! the courtiers cried,! were never seen !
Three salmon longer than a cloth-yard shaftThis man must be the master of his craft !
An easy art ! the jealous King repliedMyself coul d learn it better, if I tried,And catch a hundred larger fish a weekWilt thou accept the challenge , fellow ! Speak !
!
The fisher tu rned, came near, and bent his knee’
T is not for kings to strive with such as me !Yet if the King commands it, I obey .
But one condition of the strife I prayThe fisherman who brings the least to landShall do whate’er the other may command .
Loud laughed the King A foolish fisher thou !For I shall win and rule thee then as now .
So to Prince John, a sober soul , sedateAnd slow
,King Martin left the helm of state,
Whi le to the novel game with eager zestHe all his time and all his powers addrest .Sure such a sight was never seen before !For robed and crowned the monarch trod theshore !
His golden hooks were decked with feathers fine,His jewelled reel ran out a silken line .With ki ngly strokes he flogged the crystal st ream ,
Far-off the salmon saw his tackle gleam !Careless of kings , they eyed with calm disdainThe gaudy lure, and Martin fished in vain .
On Friday, when the week was almost spent,He scanned his empty creel with discontent,Called for a net, and cast it far and wide,And drew a thousand minnows from the tide !Then came the fisher to conclude the match ,And at the monarch’s feet spread out his catchA hundred salmon, greater than beforeI win ! he cried : the King must pay thescore .
Th en Martin, angry, threw his tackle downRather than lose thi s game I ’d lose my crown !
A MILE WITH ME
WHO will walk a mile with meAl ong li fe’s merry way !
A comrade blithe and full of glee ,Who dares to laugh out loud and free,And let his frolic fancy play,Like a happy chi ld, through the flowersThat fill the field and fringe the wayWhere he walks a mile with me .
And who will walk a mile with meAlong life’s weary way !A friend whose heart has eyes to seeThe stars shine out o’er the darkening lea,And the quiet rest at the end 0 ’ the day,A friend who knows, and dares to say ,The brave, sweet words that cheer the wayWhere he walks a mile with me .
W ith such a comrade, such a friend,I fain would walk till journeys end,Th rough summer sunshine, winter rain,And then ! — Farewell, we shall meet again !
December , 1902 .
S! RING IN THE SOU TH
NOW in the oak the sap of life is well ing,Tho’ to the bough the rusty leafage clings !
Now on the elm the misty buds are swelling,See how the pine-wood grows alive withwings
Blue-jays fluttering, yodeling and cry ing,Meadow-larks sai ling low above the fadedgrass ,
Red-birds whistling clear, silent robins flying,Who has waked the birds up ! What hascome to pass !
Last year’s cotton-plants , desolately bowing,Tremble in the March-wind, ragged and forlorn !
Red are the hill-sides of the early ploughing,Gray are the lowlands, waiting for the corn .
Earth seems asleep still, but she’
s only feigning !Deep in her bosom thrills a sweet unrest .Look where the jasmine lavishly is raining
Jove’s golden shower into Danae’
s breast !
Now on the plum the snowy bloom is sifted ,Now on the peach the glory of the rose,Over the hills a tender haze is drifted,Full to the brim the yellow river flows.Dark cypress boughs with vivid jewels glisten,Greener than emeralds shining in the sun .
Who has wrought the magic ! Listen , sweetheart,listen !
The mocking-bird i s s inging Spring hasbegun .
Hark, in his song no tremor of mi sg1v ing !All of his heart he pours into his lay,Love, love, love, and pure delight of livingWinter is forgotten : here ’
s a happy day !Fair in your face I read the flowery presage,Snowy on your brow and rosy on your mouthSweet in your voice I hear the season’s message,Love, love, love, and Spring in the South !
March , 1904 .
shimmerAcross the sea !
And when the waves reflect the moon’sglimmer,
I think of thee.
I see thy form, when down the distant highwayThe dust-clouds rise !
In deepest night, above the mountain by-way,I see thine eyes .
I hear thee when the ocean-tides returningLoudly rejoice !
And on the lonely moor, in stillness yearni ng,I hear thy voice.
I dwell with thee : though thou art far remov‘
ed,Yet art thou near.
The sun goes down , the stars shine out,Beloved,
Ah , wert thou here !
F rom ! oethe N i he des ! e liebten.
I put my heart to schoolIn the woods, where veeries sing ,And brooks run cool and clear !In the fields, where wild flowers spring,And the blue of heaven bends near.Go out, I said : you are half a fool,But perhaps they can teach you here .
And why do you stay so long,My heart
,and where do you roam !
The answer came with a laugh andI find this school is home.
!
Apr il, 1901.
A ! RAY ER FOR A MOTHER’S BIRTHDAY
LORD JESUS , Thou hast knownA mother’s love and tender care
And Thou wilt hear, while for my ownMother most dear I make this birthday prayer.
Protect her life, I pray,Who gave the gift of li fe to me !And may she know, from day to day,The de e pening glow of L i fe that c omes fromThee .
As once upon her breastFearless and well content I lay,So let her heart, on Thee at rest,Feel fears depart and troubles fade away.
Her every wish fulfillAnd even if Thou must refuseIn anything, let Thy wise willA comfort bring such as kind mothers use.
Ah, hold her by the hand,As once her hand held mine !And though she may not understandLife’s winding way, lead her in peace divine .
I cannot pay my debtFor all the love that she has given !But Thou, love
’s Lord, wilt not forgetHer due reward, bless her inheaven.
July. 1903
A SOFT veil dims the tender skies,And half conceals from pensive eyes
The bronzing tokens of the fallA calmness broods upon the hills,And sum
’
mer’s parting dream disti llsA charm of silence over all .
The stacks of corn, in brown array,Stand waiting through the placid day,Like tattered wigwams on the plain !The tribes that find a shelter thereAre phantom peoples, forms of air,And ghosts of vanished joy and pain.
At evening when the crimson crestOf sunset passes down the West,I hear the whispering host returningOn far-off fields, by elm and oak,I see the lights, I smell the smoke,The Camp-fires of
Nov ember , 1903.
ONE WORLD
The worlds in cwi fe/"zcwe !five are two
Theworld‘I am and the world
‘I do.
’
T HE worlds in which we live at heart are one ,The world I am,
! the fruit of I havedone
And underneath these worlds of flower and fruit,The world I love,
! the only living root.
ALL the trees are sleeping, al l the winds are still,All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered
past the hillTh rough the noonday silence, down the woods of
June,Hark, a little hunter
’s voice comesa tune .
Hide and seek !When I speak,You must answer meCall again ,Merry men,
Coo-ee, coo-cc, coo-ee l
I I
Long ago he left me, long and long agoNow I wander through the world and seek him
Hidden safe and happy, in someAh, if I could hear his voice, I soon
face.Far away,Many a day,Where can Barney be!Answer, dear,Don’t you hear !
Coo-cc, coo-cc, coo-ee l
Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heartwith joy,
Flowers he loved to pick for me, mind me of myboy .
Surely he is waiting till my steps comeLove may hide itself awhi le, but love
die .Heart, be glad,The little ladWill call some day to theeFather dear,Heaven is here,
Coo-cc, coo-cc coo-ee l!
January , 1900.
LONG, long ago I heard a little song,(Ah, was it long ago , or yesterday ! !
So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,Th at far into my heart it found the wayA melody consoling and endearing !And still , in silent hours, I
’m often hearingThe small, sweet song that does not die away.
Long, long ago I saw a little flower,(Ah , was it long ago , or yesterday ! !So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,That something dear to me it seemed to sayA thought of joy that blossomed into beingWithout a word ! and now I
’m often seeingThe friendly flower that does not fade away.
Long, long ago we had a little child,(Ah, was it long ago , or yesterday ! !
Into his mother’s eyes and mine he smi ledUnconscious love ! warm in our arms he lay.
An angel called ! Dear heart, we could not holdhim !
Yet secretly your arms and mi ne infold himOur little child who does not go away.
Long, long ago ! Ah , memory, make it clear
(I t was not long ago, but yesterday,!So little and so helpless and so dearLet not the song be lost, the flower decay !His voice , his waking eyes , his gentle sleepingThe smallest things are safest in thy keeping .
Sweet memory, keep our child with us alway.
Apr il, 1903.
WHEN the frosty kiss of Autumn in the darkMakes its mark
On the flowers, and the misty morning grievesOver fallen leaves !
Then my olden garden, where the golden soilThrough the toil
Of a hundred years i s mellow, rich, and deep,Whispers in its sleep .
’Mid the crumpled beds of marigold and phlox,Where the box
Borders with its glossy green the ancient walks,There ’
s a voice that talksOf the human hopes that bloomed
hereYear by year,
Dreams of joy , that brightened all the labouringhours,Fading as the flowers .
Yet the whispered story does not deepen grief !But relief
For the loneliness of sorrow seems to flowFrom the Long-Ago,
When I think of other lives that learned,like mine
,
To resign,And remember that the sadness of the fall
Comes alike to all .
What regrets, what longings for the lost weretheirs !
And what prayersFor the silent strength that nerves us to endure
Things we cannot cure !Pacing up and down the garden where they paced,
I have tracedAll their well-worn paths of pati ence, till I find
Comfort in my mind .
Faint and far away their ancient griefs appearYet how near
Is the tender voice, the carewo rn, kindly face,Of the human race !
Let us walk together in the garden, dearestheart,Not apart !
They who know the sorrows otherknownNever walk alone.
October , 1903.
Comfort of kindly speech,And counsel of the wise,Have helped me less than what I readIn those deep-smiling eyes .
Sleep sweetly, l ittle friend,And dream again of heavenWith double love I kiss your hand,Your mes sage has been given.
Nov ember , 1903.
LIGHT BEW'
EEN THE TREES
L ONG, long, long the trailTh rough the brooding forest-gloom,
Down the shadowy, lonely valeInto silence, l ike a roomWhere the light of life has fled,And the jealous curtains closeRound the passionless reposeOf the silent dead .
Plod, plod, plod away,Step by step in mouldering moss !Thick branches bar the dayOver languid streams that crossSoftly, slowly, with a soundIn their aimless creepingLike a smothered weeping,Th rough the enchanted ground.
Yield, yield, yield thy quest ,Whispers through the woodland deepCome to me and be at rest !I am slumber, I am sleep .
Th en the weary feet would fail,But the never-daunted willUrges Forward, forward still !Press along the trail !
Breast, breast, breast the slope !See, the path is growing steep.
Hark ! a little song of hopeWhen the stream begins to leap .
Though the forest, far and wide,Still shuts out the bending blue,We shall finally win through,Cross the long divide .
RELIANCE
NOT to the swift, the raceNot to the strong, the fight
Not to the righteous, perfect graceNot to the wise, the light.
But often faltering feetCome surest to the goal
And they who walk in darkness meetThe sunrise of the soul .
A thousand times by nightThe Syri an hosts have died
A thousand times the vanquishedHath risen, glorified .
The truth the wise men soughtWas spoken by a child !
The alabaster box was broughtIn trembling hands defiled.
Not from my torch , the gleam,
But from the stars above :Not from my heart , life
’s crystal stream,
But from the depths of Love.
October , 1903.
KATRINA’S SUN-DIAL
Time isToo Slow for those who Wait,Too Swift for those who Fear,Too Long for those who Grieve,Too Short for those who Rejoice !But for those who Love,Time is not .
HOURS fly,Flowers die
New days,New waysPass by !Love stays.
TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
On his !Book of Joy ous Children
!
Y OURS is a garden of old-fashioned flowers !
Joyous children delight to play there !Weary men find rest in its bowers,Watchi ng the lingering light of day ther e .
Old-time tunes and young love’s laughterRipple and run among the roses !Memory ’s echoes, murmuring after,Fill the dusk when the long day closes.
Simple songs with a cadence oldenThese you learned in the Forest of ArdenFriendly flowers with hearts all goldenTh ese you borrowed from Eden’s garden.
This is the reason why all men love you !Truth to life is the charm of artOther poets may soar above youYou keep close to the human heart.
December , 1903.
A RONDEAU OF COLLEGE RHYMES
OU R college rhymes , — how light they seem,
Like little ghosts of love’s young dreamThat led our boyish hearts awayFrom lectures and from books, to stray
By flowery mead and flowing stream !
There ’
s nothing here , in form or theme,O f thought sublime or art supremeWe would not have the critic weighOur college rhymes .
Yet if, perchance, a slender beamOf feeling ’s glow or fancy’s gleamStill lingers in the lines we layAt Alma Mater’s feet today
,
The touch of Nature may redeemOur college rhymes.
May . 1904
IN mirth he mocks the other birds at noon,Catching the li lt of eve1y easy tune !
But when the day departs he sings of love,His own wild song beneath the listening moon.
March , 1904 .
A FLAWLESS cup : how delicate and fineThe flowing curve of every jewelled ‘line !
Look, turn it up or down ,’
t is perfect still,But holds no drop of life’s heart-warming wine.
Apr il , 1904 .
T HE DOOR STEAD
T HE l intel low enough to keep out pomp andpride
The threshold high enough to turn deceit asideThe doorband strong enough from robbers todefend
Thi s door will open at a touch to welcome everyfriend.
T HE HEAR TH STONE
WHEN the logs are burning free,Then the fire is full of glee :
When each heart gives out its best,Then the talk is full of zestLight your fire and never fear,Life was made for love and cheer.
T HE SU N-DIAL
T IME can never take
When my shadows have all passed,You shall live.
THE SUN-DIAL AT WELLS COLLEGE
T HE shadow by my finger castDivides the future from the past
Before it, sleeps the unborn hourIn darkness, and beyond thy powerBehind its unretuming line,The vanished hour, no longer thineOne hour alone is in thy hands,The NOW on which the shadow stands.
March, 1904.
This book i s DU E on the last date stamped below
A! R 2 4 1935
A! R 20 1936
MAY 1 1 1936
JUL 1 5 1930
mAY 2 7 195@
Form L -9— 15m 1
